beautiful thoughts
by Tokoloshe Monster
Summary: "Just – don't think I'm dead before I really am, okay?" Cinna and Finnick grew up together, and then grew apart, and nothing is as beautiful as the Capitol burning. For Caesar's fic exchange. Slash ahoy.


**A/N: For Jess, because she's cool like that. For Caesar's Palace fic exchange, using the following prompts: **_violent delights have violent ends, i want to hate you half as much as i hate myself, i don't love you like i did yesterday _

Um, this is slash. (CinnaXFinnick.) Nothing explicit, though.

* * *

**beautiful thoughts**

o

When Cinna wakes up on the day of the reaping, he stares at his ceiling for a bit – as if he'll find the names the Games' tributes written into the cracks. He's not too worried that it might be him; District 4 is a large place, after all. But still, there's an uneasy pit at the bottom of his stomach that comes every year. A breeze from his window hits his his face, the sea air stirring him into being fully awake.

He shrugs on his clothes, wondering if he should roll up his sleeves or not. He decides to fold it several times over instead, so he doesn't have cloth bulging just above his elbows. It's a hot day after all, and the town square will be crowded.

When he leaves the house (his mother promising to see him later), Finnick Odair quickly joins joins him. Their houses are only a few streets apart. The tar is hot and Cinna's face feels sticky, and the ocean breeze is painfully faint, barely stirring the still air.

"Cinna." He says 'Cinna' in a way a person does when they've repeated something so many times that it rolls off as easily and naturally as their own name. His voice sounds like he's addressing a natural extension of himself, something he knows as intimately as his own reflection.

"Your hair," Cinna says distractedly, "you're actually wearing it like I told you to."

Finnick shrugs, running a hand through it, rumpling it further. He just changed the parting, really, but still – it frames his face far better, making him look older – sixteen, at least. "I thought I'd do something special for the reaping day," he replies. "Might as well give Panem something pretty to look at. Are you worried?"

Cinna shrugs, looking down. "As worried as everyone should be, I guess."

Finnick grins in that way that would soon win the hearts of Panem. "Don't fret; I'll volunteer for you," he says and ruffles Cinna's hair playfully, putting his arm around the shorter boy. The annoying thing about Finnick is that he always managed to act like the older one, the most mature and experienced, even though Cinna was his senior by nearly a year. The extra head of height Finnick held over Cinna didn't help much, either.

Cinna doesn't argue because _really_, what are the chances of him being reaped?

o

As it turns out, Finnick didn't need to volunteer.

o

"Finnick – "

"I'll win, okay? I'll win and everything will be fine. You just – you just, I don't know. Just don't think I'm dead before I really am, alright? And that's not going to happen in the Games. "

Cinna bites back the words that threaten to tumble from his lips – _I love you, so you better come back, asshole _– and crosses his arms in a way that hurts his chest.

For the next two weeks, it hurts for Cinna to breathe.

o

Finnick doesn't come back. Rather, a hollow boy with a too-white teeth and too-perfect skin, with trimmed-down hair and looking much, much older than just fourteen. He's lost some of his muscle and is lean and slender, his pants always hanging a too loosely around his narrow hips.

This new shadow of Finnick is quiet, his expression usually ranging from blank to hateful. He stays on the beach for hours at nighttime, looking at the stars and sometimes wades into the sea, wanting to be part of something bigger than Panem.

Some nights, Cinna would sit down next to him. Unlike before the Games, they wouldn't kiss or talk about girls or strip down naked and run into the ocean, thinking that they were invincible and free. The nights would be quiet, with Cinna just waiting for the Victor to say something. Sometimes Cinna thought he would crumble into the sand from all the waiting, but it made it all worth it when Finnick would squeeze his hand or murmer a 'thank you' when dawn came along – it wasn't much, but at least Cinna knew his company was wanted.

Finnick wishes that he could hate the older boy, really. That he could just hate Cinna and his endless patience, his carefully considered way of speaking, the way he could draw anything and make it look like a copy from reality. It would be so much easier if he could chase Cinna away, to tell him to get away from him. But he can't, because it's _Cinna_, and everything would hurt so much more without him.

o

Of course, for the Capitol, merely winning is not enough. Finnick was a spectacular, delightfully violent winner, and such winners need to meet their spectacular, violent ends.

o

On the day Finnick turns eighteen, there's celebration in the Capitol. Even though everyone says it's just an excuse to have a party, it's really because now Finnick Odair will _finally _be on the market. Soon it will become a sign of status in the Capitol – only the richest of the elite have sex with Victors.

"Just breathe," Cinna says softly as he readjusts Finnick's suit. Ice is in this year, and Cinna did an excellent job of designing a thin coating of frost for his cuffs and tie. The crystals caught the light and scatters it into shades of blue. "You'll get through this."

Finnick rests his head on the taller man's shoulders, his entire relaxing and weight falling onto Cinna's chest. Since Cinna became a stylist, their moments in the Capitol were limited to small, quiet seconds that was more of a nostalgia than a comfort."I can't, Cinna."

"You must," his voice is gentle. "It's this or –" Cinna's words die. Neither of them really know what the _or _entails, but it'll be bloodier than Finnick's victory.

"Finnick, look at me."

The boy looks up – really, he doesn't feel anything like a man – his eyelashes coated with a delicate blue powder that would look ridiculous in anywhere but the Capitol.

They kiss briefly, in the same way a couple that has been together for too many years would. It's to relieve an old memory, not to make a new one. It can't be passionate because neither of them have anything to burn. They both fell out of love a long time ago, but Cinna is familiar and tastes like home, and Finnick needs that more than anything else.

"Promise me," Finnick says. "Promise we'll burn down the Capitol?"

Cinna smiles, because it's a beautiful thought.


End file.
